


Pecks and Loving and Learning

by missme



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe, M/M, post death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-05
Updated: 2013-02-11
Packaged: 2017-11-28 07:58:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,703
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/672088
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/missme/pseuds/missme
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Post death AU - After waking up from being shot at the revolt, Enjolras and Grantaire realize that death may not be so bad after all</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. First Thoughts Are Usually The Most Accurate

**Author's Note:**

> One-shot fluff for now, might continue if the interest is high enough...implied Joly/Bossuet, implied Courfeyrac/Jehan...enjoy!!

The first thought that presented itself in his head when he woke up was not the bright light pulsing through his eyelids or the sound of muffled sobbing somewhere close by or even the deep aching pain spreading its way throughout his body. No, Enjolras' first thought after waking up was that his hand was currently being held with both the delicacy and fierceness. And when this hand grasped Enjolras' even tighter, everything that had happened pushed to the front of his mind – the battle, watching all of his friends die, and finally Grantaire, those green eyes never leaving his blue ones as he walked past the soldiers to stand next to Enjolras, ready to die by his side.  


He squeezed Grantaire's hand and turned over to face him. The joy that could be seen on Grantaire's face quickly spread to Enjolras and soon both of them were smiling, standing and holding each other, happy with the fact that they were together, whether or not they knew exactly where they were. And then a familiar cough interrupted them. Standing in the room with them were the rest of their friends – Joly with his head on Bossuet's shoulder, Jehan holding and comforting a crying Courfeyrac and everyone else standing awkwardly, almost not sure what to do with themselves – and Combeferre was in front of all of them, looking at Enjolras and Grantaire with a melancholy smile.  


“We were hoping that of all of us, you would be the one to live and continue. But I can say that I am glad to see you again...and with good company.” At this Grantaire's cheeks reddened but Enjolras pressed his hand one more time before stepping forward to embrace Combeferre.  


“Where are we? Is this...?”  


“Yes, mon ami, this is death. Even after we have passed, we still remain where our souls want to be most desperately. And that,” he chuckled and gestured around him, “happens to be Le Musain, for all of us it seems.” The rest of Les Amis nodded behind him. Enjolras felt his stomach tighten, finally realizing that the room they were in was their room in the back of the cafe, only quiet for once, without the noises of Paris floating in through the windows.  


“Oh what have I done to all of you. Had it not been for me you would have still been alive, enjoying life and now see where my ideas have placed you!” Before he could keep going, Feuilly spoke from behind Combeferre.  


“Stop. We knew what we were getting ourselves into and it's finished now, there is nothing to be done. And does this show you nothing if not that we still long to be here, with you, even after death?” Only one other time in his life had Enjolras felt this level of love for someone and he realized that this someone was still standing behind him, staring at the floor and not saying anything, very much out of character for him.  


“Have you been outside yet? Are we the only ones here?” Enjolras went straight to doing what he did best, taking the lead. “Perhaps we'll go look now, see if there are any more peop – of us around and then reconvene to talk about what we should do.” Slowly the rest of Les Amis got up and started heading downstairs. Enjolras whispered something in Combeferre's ear and grabbed Grantaire's arm before he could make it to the door. “Hi.” At that Grantaire, who had been looking anywhere but at Enjolras' face, locked eyes with him.  


“Hi. Um, would you like to go look at what it's like?”  


“No, actually. I wanted to talk to you. About what happened before we....well before.”  


“I'm sorry. I know it wasn't how you would have wanted to go, especially with me there. But I figured that Orestes might want Pylades by his side.” And there it was again; Enjolras was always in awe whenever Grantaire used his wit and knowledge instead of dulling it with absinthe and wine.  


“Why would you be sorry? Having you there with me was the best thing I could have asked for. And to be honest, I was terrified. You gave me strength. I wasn't afraid when you were next to me.” Grantaire's eyes go wide and Enjolras can see that he's not used to receiving praise. A thought in the back of his mind is telling him that he wants to see Grantaire smiling like this more often.  


“Are you disappointed...with how things ended?” Enjolras' heart sank when Grantaire said this. He told himself that it was because of the reminder that he would no longer be able to fight for the people but swore that he could see Grantaire inching closer to him.  


“I am not disappointed in my death, only that the people of Paris did not rise to the occasion sooner. They will, eventually, I am sure of it. I only regret that I will not be there to see it done.” Grantaire laughed exasperatedly. “Do you still mock our cause, even after you died for it?”  


“I mock nothing. I am only in awe that you still believe so greatly in a cause and a people that allowed you to die. And I did not die for the cause, I died for you.” Grantaire brushed his hand along Enjolras' cheek as he said this and started to turn away before Enjolras grabbed his arm to turn him around once again, only this time their lips met and neither quite knew what they were doing but just as they had died together they melted together, into one another. And fingers were running through hair and down bodies and never before had either of them felt something quite like this – that all they wanted was right there and nothing, not alcohol nor talk of revolution, could take away the need they had for each other except a creak that came from the stairs. And there was Combeferre, whose face was as red as the mark that was blooming on Enjolras' neck.  


“Er, I'll go now but we found some more people and thought you would want to.....I'm sorry, I'm just going to leave.” Enjolras started following him, tugging Grantaire by the hand, but not before Grantaire pecked his cheek one last time and grinned bigger than he ever had before, knowing that in this world they had all the time they could ever want for pecks and loving and learning about each others minds and bodies and never before had he felt so light.


	2. A Finally Accepted Pylades

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Grantaire thinks back to realize just how lucky he is until a familiar face causes a pain that can't be spoken. *I'M SO SORRY I SUCK AT SUMMARIES*

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *VERY IMPORTANT PLEASE READ THIS BEFORE THE CHAPTER* Sorry, just wanted to let you know that THIS IS FROM GRANTAIRE'S POINT OF VIEW. It has some back story (and by back story I mean some of my headcannon that is somewhat plausible in my head), and is not as long as the first chapter but I just wanted an interlude. I will be switching back and forth between the two, seeing as I find it hard to write from just one of their perspectives... sorry for such a long notes and enjoy darlings xx

     Grantaire was in a state of shock as he let himself be led by the hand by Enjolras down the stairs that were so familiar to him. For years his innermost thoughts had been consumed by battling over his feelings for the Apollonian revolutionary. He knew that what he was feeling wasn't entirely correct – his devout Catholic father made that perfectly clear when he kissed the boy next door at 4 years old – but couldn't help the passion that ignited in him every time Enjolras began speaking. This war between his heart and his brain only increased his love of alcohol, started by god-knows-what in his childhood that he can barely remember himself.

     For years Grantaire's brain and heart fought like this, and the more they fought the more Enjolras and Grantaire fought. But no matter how many times Enjolras scorned Grantaire's ideas or actions or presence in general, something in Grantaire's heart told him to keep coming back, just as something in Enjolras' told him to keep allowing him back. Their relationship was never equal, no matter how much Enjolras prattled on about equality of the people, but he also knew that he had never made it easy. Had they both tried to allow a civil conversation to occur between them Grantaire was sure they would get on fine, even possibly be able to relate their lives in some way. But they were both stubborn – Grantaire with his drink and Enjolras with his ideals – and neither would give up easily.

     But then he found himself in the café, all his friends dead except for Enjolras; why he was there in the first place after all. The blonde boy – because that's what they all were really, boys – aged beyond his years, knowing so much suffering in just those few hours but never showing it, not even as he stood on his grave. Only Grantaire could see in his eyes the glint of fear that mingled with defiance and, for a moment shock, at seeing Grantaire walking blindly past the national guard. He never glanced away from those eys. He knew his heart had been right the whole time, it had just taken his brain a little while to catch up. And when Enjolras permitted his last request to die with him, he took back anything he had ever thought or said about not believing. Maybe if he had believed in Enjolras' cause they would have had a chance to live, maybe if he had focused his energy more their friends would not be piled together on the floor below them. And oh god how he prayed – an almost foreign act to him – that there would be a life after this where he could tell Enjolras everything and apologize for everything and they could spend eternity together. Maybe since this last chance for Grantaire to show his bravery was actually accomplished God would permit him that eternity.

     And then the shots rang out and the last thing he remembered was the press of Enjolras' hand against his as he fell to the floor the last image in his head that of Enjolras nodding and smiling at him, finally accepting him as his Pylades.

     Another tug on his hand brought him back to reality and the smile forming on his lips froze as he caught sight of the little boy sitting at the bottom of the stairs, whistling to himself, no more gloomy than he had been before death. Grantaire fell to his knees as a sob tore itself through his chest, causing Gavroche to look up and rush over to embrace his brother.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now that you're done reading, I just want to thank everyone who has read/kudosed/bookmarked/commented so far it means more than you would actually think is sane


End file.
